Dear Steele, I’m just checking in with you. Your phone must be lost, because we don’t talk anymore. We’ve gone from regular hourly check-ins to complete isolation. Most people would think that sounds like a bit too much communication, but it didn’t seem intrusive to me. It wasn’t particularly purpose driven; it was more of a routine. Checking in with each other was like eating breakfast in the morning. I like to think of it as a form of intimacy: to be so concerned about someone else’s daily agenda, almost as if to see when you fit in, so you can look forward to those moments.
I would look forward to those moments, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously, but how good it felt to arrive home, walk through the door and have you there to take my laptop bag from my shoulder and relieve me of my heavy load, and then be able to share the story of my day with you.
Some people say we derive meaning in our lives in communication with others. I suppose that’s why I feel so undone trying to adjust to this isolation. Men seem to have a particular talent in being communication averse. They often take offense to ‘too many’ questions, or any questions for that matter, about their day. They take on an aggressive or at least agitated posture as if they don’t have to answer to anyone. Many sons do that with their mothers too. I suppose some women give them reason to be skeptical, with jealous behaviour and scheming.
You were always okay with sharing your agenda about routine things, but you would sometimes put up a fuss about sharing your agenda if it involved going out with your ‘boys’ or doing something involving a female friend, or something like that. But I wasn’t trying to be nosey or jealous or anything; it was just a continuation of that communication that was characteristic of our intimacy.
I think for many women, certainly for me, when they ask questions about what you’re doing and try to engage you in a random discussion, they are not trying to get in your business, they are trying to get to know you, or to stay connected to you. The more of you I get to know, on those routine days and those not so routine days, is the more I am able to perceive what you like; what you don’t like; what you’re afraid of; what gives you joy; what makes you happy or sad; what your dreams and ambitions are; what you value in life, and all the things that comprise you.
I usually thought about intimacy in terms of sexual relationships, but now I mostly think about how it applies to the little things that exist in human interaction; it’s about sharing one’s life experience or daily agenda with other people. That’s why I think women are always trying to get men to be more ‘open’ with them, because when you share your ‘agenda’ with me that makes me feel like I am valuable to you and worthy of sharing in that experience: it’s an expression of love. You know I do everything to the n’th degree, so perhaps you experienced a bit of over kill, but I think most of the time we shared mutually in this experience.
When you have friends, male and female, who know you intimately in this sense, they have a different understanding of you than other friends. Most people get to know you when you are putting on a show in performance of specific roles. They don’t get to see you when you take your costume off, undress and are standing naked. We got to see each other quite a bit when we were naked, and we loved every bit of it: all of the scars and freckles; the ingrown hairs that you were obsessed about; all of the beauty spots, the tender spots, the tough spots, the rough spots, the dry spots, the wet spots, the hot spots, the cold spots, the forbidden spots, the favourite spots.
I know you must be busy enjoying your new adventure, but I’m trying to restore my trust in life, to feel less vulnerable in this new exposure, so please forgive me if I keep checking in.